When people refuse to speak out, public records often become the only way to expose the truth.

In the ongoing case of Isaac Sanders, many people have declined to speak publicly.

Public documents have proven to be a lifeline in our efforts to report on allegations that the former vice president of advancement at East Stroudsburg University and director of the university's foundation sexually harassed students and that his superiors covered up for him.

For example, such records have brought to light a settlement signed by a whistleblower who worked for Sanders.

The university paid her nearly $140,000 in exchange for a promise that she would not file suit against ESU or discuss the “certain controversy” that characterized her time at ESU.

And, when no one from ESU or the Pennsylvania State System of Higher Education was commenting about the case, a Right-to-Know request brought to light an internal email in which campus leaders acknowledged that Sanders was dismissed because they had verified and corroborated his “inappropriate conduct.”

One of the main questions many people have wrestled with over the years is: Why? Why would Robert Dillman, the long-serving president of ESU who retired in 2012, a man esteemed in Monroe County for his moral probity and forceful leadership, allegedly put his legacy at risk?

In an attempt to answer this question, the Pocono Record submitted a Right-to-Know request in 2009 that led to a protracted legal battle and, finally, to the release of nearly 14,000 pages of East Stroudsburg University Foundation files.

Our working theory was that, if the allegations were true, Dillman may have wanted to protect Sanders because Sanders was his chief fundraiser.

Allegations against Sanders were surfacing at a sensitive time: the wrap-up of a fundraising campaign for ESU's Science and Technology Center, which was the linchpin of Dillman's legacy.

Here's what public documents tell us so far:

In March 2003, Dillman's dream hit a major roadblock. The Science and Technology Center, which would be the first new building to rise on the ESU campus in decades, was in trouble.

First budgeted at $23 million, the project went through a redesign. The news was bad — a 35 percent increase, from $23 million to $31 million.

Eventually, the total cost would top out at $41 million

Worse for ESU, the campus in East Stroudsburg had to cover all of that extra money.

Bottom line: In total, ESU had to raise $15.6 million.

That left two options: Scale back the project or come up with the extra cash.

For ESU, scaling back the size of the building was a non-starter.

“There is a history here of downsizing buildings to fit budget allocations that we do not want to repeat,” Rich Staneski, then-vice president of administration and operations, wrote in an email to PASSHE in 2003.

ESU proposed a work-around: The ESU Foundation could raise the $15.6 million — eventually. But raising that much money could take a very long time. In order to keep momentum going, ESU asked the state to essentially float ESU a $15 million loan in the form of a bond.

The bond would be repaid by the foundation over 20 years at a cost of $1 million annually. If the foundation failed to raise enough money, the annual costs would come out of ESU's operating budget.

The idea met with some skepticism in Harrisburg, public records show.

“The Foundation has no experience with capital fundraising. Currently, they raise about $1.3 million per year, of which only $300,000 is discretionary,” Mary Soderberg, who was then the vice chancellor for administration and finance, wrote on May 8, 2003, to then-Chancellor Judy Hample and several other top officials at PASSHE.

“To take on this capital campaign would mean that this would be a 20-year priority for the university.”

She added: “Although the University can afford this obligation, it will limit their ability to deal with anything else. … This is a very large project and would be a significant precedent.”

Where'd the money go?

At the time, the arrangement was not typical for PASSHE institutions. Member campuses like ESU are generally supposed to come up with 50 percent of the cost of the building, which is meant to demonstrate local support for a project and spread financial risk.

But in this case, ESU was allowed to use bond money — a loan from the state — to cover its side of the bargain.

In June 2003, the board of the foundation took a formal role in paying back the bond.

“The ESU Foundation is committed to the Science & Technology Center,” the trustees wrote in a letter. “Therefore, it is the intent of the Foundation to serve bond debt in the amount of $1 million annually for a period of 20 years.”

It is unclear how well the foundation was able to meet this commitment.

Soon after breaking the news that Sanders was under investigation, the Pocono Record analyzed publicly available records and spotted inconsistent payouts from scholarship funds.

Sources suggested that some of the money that ESU and the foundation needed to demonstrate their fundraising success to the state was actually illusory.

Grand commitments may not have been followed by actual payments, sources suggested. Money intended for one purpose, like a scholarship, may have been redirected to the campaign for the new building without the consent — or knowledge — of donors.

For example, $56,598 from the estate of Doris Imbt was misallocated, according to the termination letter that Dillman sent to Sanders. The gift was supposed to be restricted, and used only for the class of 1938 scholarship fund, but wound up in the ESU Foundation's general fund instead.

“The information supports that either you knowingly directed the deposit of the bequest into the unrestricted ESU Foundation fund,” Dillman wrote to Sanders, explaining that the misallocation was one reason for his dismissal, “or at the very least, should have discovered the action and corrected it.”

It remains unclear whether the misallocation was a simple clerical error or deliberate.

The Pocono Record requested files for six donors:

• Warren Hoeffner, after whom the Science and Technology Center was named;

• Jone Bush, a local scholarship donor;

• HD Justi, which gave money for a gymnastics scholarship that never materialized and led to years of notifications on the foundation's audit;

• Imbt and Betty Baltz, alumnae who left bequests to the university;

• Dillman himself.

Four years and several court battles later, we set a precedent regarding open records. A ruling, upheld by the state Supreme Court, held that the records of private entities, like the foundation, that carry out work on behalf of public agencies, are public documents.

We also received an embarrassment of riches: A document dump of 13,889 records for those donors that we were seeking, plus others, that make this investigative effort potentially unrecoverable.

This is where you come in.

The documents the foundation released to us take two forms. The first is, from what we can tell, what comes from the file folders maintained for each donor. Here we see correspondence, thank you letters, commitment forms, prospect research and other papers.

The other comes from the foundation's fundraising database.

Both types of records are redacted, per the court's orders. It is impossible to tell which records correspond to which donor.

Take a look.

Do any memos, letters, emails or database records strike you as interesting or unusual?

Do you see mention of scholarship money ending up in other accounts at the foundation?

Did money that was meant to be protected in perpetuity in an endowment get used for other purposes?

Are there any significant mismatches between amounts that were pledged for the capital campaign to ESU's Science and Technology Center and the amounts that actually materialized?

In short, we'd like your help in sorting through the morass.

If you spot something that needs attention, email us at poconorecordhelper@gmail.com and cite the document batch and page numbers.

And if you want to contact us directly, please email newsroom@poconorecord.com or call 570-420-4344.